Breakfast
by 20BlueRoses
Summary: Cal told his brother he was okay but the aftermath suggests otherwise.


I'm sure I'm not alone in wishing that one little moment between the brothers expanded into something more! After all the responsibilities Cal had in that episode, saving Charlie, two stabs victims, losing a child, he must have been emotional. This isn't my best writing, but just a little something that played on my mind.

Would love any reviews.

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Cal sat, glumly playing with the full English breakfast that he didn't remember ordering. He supposed Ethan must have placed the order for him having realised his exhaustion had hit the level where he could barely speak.

It seemed many of his colleagues felt that way too, for there was silence in the café, only broken by the sounds of knives scraping against plates and noisy slurps as someone gulped down a much needed coffee. It was a small builder's café that Cal had only been to once before, when he had hoped it would provide a quick hangover cure prior to starting his shift. He suspected the venue had never been this busy, the nine of them occupying nearly every plastic chair.

Among his colleagues, he seemed to be the only one not eating. He poked a fried egg with his knife and watched as the yolk poured out and oozed across his plate. It was like blood, he thought, except yellow, dairy and harmless. Stabbing an egg was about as far as you could get from stabbing a human. He closed his eyes as a vision of Roxanne made his breakfast blur. The scissors handles spiked from her back at a disturbing angle, the blade embedded in her organs, her blood all over the bed and the floor and his hands.

He hadn't wanted to work that shift anyway. His leave request went in at the same time as his brother's and yet Mrs Beauchamp had made it perfectly clear that she was unable to authorise both. They had left her office and played for it, rock, paper, scissors. He had lost best out of three and still lost even when he had begged Ethan to play on to five. So he spent the first half of his shift sulking and trying to ignore the pangs of jealousy as he pictured his celebrating colleagues getting drunk from free wine.

And then the news had come in and he'd had to prop himself up on the nurse's station as he learnt of the explosion and that the casualties were some of their own. Again, he wished that it was him who got to attend the reception rather than Ethan, but it was no longer out of jealousy. His brother had a horrible knack for doing the right thing and Cal was sure he would be in the middle of the chaos, helping others rather than keeping himself safe.

His assumptions were confirmed when Ethan was first to burst through the doors, clutching the side of Zoe's trolley, looking shocked but in control. Cal had wanted to grab his brother there and then and hug him tight without caring who was watching. But Ethan was busy and even if he hadn't been, Cal knew he would have withdrawn himself from any kind of display of affection. There was no chance to speak to Ethan after that either, although he had managed to find out that his brother was in cubicles, having gone straight back to work without needing to be asked.

He finally raised his head from his bleeding egg to look at his brother. Most people couldn't tell when something was wrong with Ethan, his stammering and ill-timed jokes so frequent that they no longer acted as a symptom. But Cal knew his brother better than either of them would admit, and so he understood by Ethan's stiff posture and forced blinks that he was working harder than normal to ensure his behaviour remained controlled. He was sure Ethan was aware he was being watched, but he refused to make eye contact so Cal kicked him under the table.

Ethan glared at him but it lacked any anger. It was as if he'd anticipated the kick and, knowing Ethan, he probably had.

"You okay?" Cal mouthed, reiterating his brother's own question from earlier.

Ethan nodded. "Eat something," he said in a silent response.

Cal frowned, staring at the plate of food he usually considered his favourite breakfast. He cut a chunk off the sausage and shoved it in his mouth. The meat tasted funny and he swallowed it whole, choking as it stuck in his throat. He coughed and Big Mac next to him, slapped him on the back so hard that even though it dislodged the food it still took a few seconds for him to regain his breath.

It was a horrible sensation not to be able to breathe freely and his moment of panic projected another image of a patient into his mind. However, despite what he had told himself in order to keep calm, Charlie was far from just a patient. The older man, usually so infallible, had become unable to even breathe for himself. The last thing Cal had envisaged doing when he had moodily started the shift was resuscitating a colleague, especially one who was something of a legend throughout the hospital, having inspired many people to progress within their profession.

He had truly believed that they weren't going to get Charlie back and would have readily broken down in Resus if it hadn't been for the fact that everyone else was holding it together, and if they could, why couldn't he? The treacherous thought had done as much to exhaust him as the CPR and by the time Connie finally demanded he take a break, he felt as if his legs would give way any second.

But there had not been time to rest before Roxanne had been violently attacked. Cal could barely utter instructions as he took the lead of her treatment, his brain working in such slow motion that he began to wonder if he too was ill. He swallowed his shame as Connie took over, knowing it was the young girl's best chance. After they finally acknowledged her death and ceased further treatment, it was hearing the cold hearted Mrs Beauchamp break down that made the death even worse. He had thrown his bloody gown to the floor and turned to Ethan, wanting to be in his brother's arms for the second time that day.

Cal didn't get the hug he sought, but got a comforting pat on the shoulder and a camaraderie as they mopped the floor and cleaned Roxanne up as best as they could. It wasn't their job to do so, but he had felt like he couldn't leave the room until he had some kind of closure. She was 16 years old and dead.

Cal blinked rapidly as he received a sharp kick to his shin. He looked up into the concerned eyes of his brother. Ethan titled his head slightly, indicating the door. Cal practically ran outside, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and nearly sending it flying in the process.

He leant against the brick wall and gulped in the fresh morning air. From his pocket, he grabbed his remaining cigarette and tried to light it. His hand was shaking so much it took three attempts before he could reward himself with a long drag. As he exhaled, he saw Ethan appear through the smoke.

"Thought you'd quit."

"I had," Cal said, returning the cigarette to his lips. They stood in silence for a minute. The air was cold at that early hour and Cal could see his brother was shivering, having forgotten to collect his jacket. "She smoked, you know. Roxanne. Jacob reckons she was sneaking out for a fag when… when it happened."

Ethan bowed his head. "She was a very unlucky girl."

"It wasn't luck," he said. "She was stupid, stupid to get mixed with up with those bastards. And she was failed." Cal inhaled again. The tar stung the back of his throat. "She was a just a child, Ethan. We couldn't- _I couldn't_ save her."

"You tried everything."

"I panicked, Ethan." He kicked the wall with his heel. "Connie had to take over. I just- there was blood everywhere, I couldn't see. I didn't know what to do."

"Caleb, it wasn't your fault. You have to believe that."

Cal stuck his cigarette back between his lips to prevent himself from having to answer and inhaled as deeply as he could. He threw the butt to the ground and stubbed it out with his foot. "Christ, I need another."

Ethan sighed and it was the same sigh he always made when Cal was indulging in one of his many vices. "No, you need food," he said. "You're shaking."

His body felt weak having not eaten for at least fourteen hours, but he didn't feel like explaining to his brother that it wasn't the reason he was trembling so violently. "How can we just sit and eat breakfast after everything that's happened."

"We're not really here for breakfast. We're here for support."

Cal was silent. He didn't understand how anyone could support him when he no intentions to share his thoughts with anyone who wasn't Ethan. He liked his colleagues and he thought at least some of them liked him too. But he knew his role; he was the fun one, the one who could be relied upon for a drink and a laugh, not an emotional heart to heart. The idea of showing them his vulnerability made him feel sicker than he did already.

However, he couldn't put that into words, not even to his brother. "My egg looks like blood," he said, instead.

"Your egg?" Ethan squinted at him. "It was the beans that did it for me."

Cal's chest suddenly felt a little lighter. "Good job neither of us have ketchup."

Ethan laughed at that, his usual whisper of a chuckle and Cal couldn't help but join in. They laughed heartily for a minute but Cal's head suddenly swam with the horror of what he was doing. How could he laugh when Charlie was ill in hospital, when a young girl had died, when gangs terrorised the streets of Holby. His last laugh turned in to a shuddering sob and he clasped a hand over his mouth to prevent any further cries for escaping. His eyes were less easily to control and he angrily brushed the tears away as they escaped down his cheek.

Ethan put an arm around his neck and pulled Cal against him, so that the older man was stooping slightly, his head buried into his brother's shoulder and their arms around each other.

"Shit," he said into the soft fabric of his brother's shirt. "But you-"

"Shhh," Ethan mumbled.

Cal, never one to do as he was told, continued to talk. "You don't like hugs," he said.

"No," Ethan said. "But I don't like lots of things. Seeing you cry, being one of them."

Cal sniffed. "I'm not crying." He focused on Ethan's hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and tried to calm himself so that his proclamation became true. When he felt it safe, he pulled away slightly and straightened his jacket. "Thanks, bro."

"Okay?"

Yeah. Sorry. Just tired."

"I'll tell the others we're going and I'll drive you home. You've had a horrible shift."

In the car Cal leant his head against the window and felt himself drifting to sleep, despite the frequent bumps of the road. When he closed his eyes this time, he didn't see any horrifying reminders of the day he'd had. Instead, he saw the image of his brother, calm and comforting; his safety net.


End file.
